


Borderline

by CandyCanine



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28873812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CandyCanine/pseuds/CandyCanine
Summary: Boone and the Courier win against the Legion, but at what cost?
Relationships: Craig Boone & Female Courier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Borderline

The time had come upon them. Crouching side by side they stared at the gates to the Legate’s camp and wondered if they would make it alive, both coming to the conclusion that most likely, they wouldn’t. Layla leaned back and cast a sideways look at Boone who looked bored as hell, as usual when things got really rough. To think that this day would likely see the end of either of them, or both of them, made Layla want to scream and run away, but of course, that would only have made matters worse. She had chosen this path, he had followed her, and now they had to go it to the end.

“Boone,” she whispered.  
He tore his eyes off the gate to look at her. “Layla.”  
She swallowed. “Just to... I know you don’t want to think of Carla right now but...” She finally dared to look at him. “What you did to her. If it ever comes to that...” Layla swallowed again. “Will you do the same for me?”  
He blinked a couple of times, then his mouth narrowed into a hard, thin line before he nodded. “Yeah. You?”  
Layla felt the pressure in her guts increase until it was almost painful. “If it’s in my power, yes.”

He gave her a firm nod, then leaned over and reached for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. When he let go her eyes were burning, but she took a deep breath to steel herself. She reloaded her weapon, gave Boone a nod in turn and both of them got up and headed for the gates, focussing only on the task ahead now.

Almost immediately after entering the camp Layla lost sight of Boone, but she had neither time nor nerves to spare to look for him. This fight was down to the very last drop of blood. And Layla, who had never been that much of a fighter, was no more than just another gun in the chaos made of shots, explosions, blood and the screams of fighting and dying men. It soon became clear to her that she could not fight to win, but only to save her own hide. When she dashed for cover behind a cluster of rocks to reload, she was completely out of breath and bleeding from a gash in her arm that a throwing spear had left there.

She heard shouts, running steps, and saw a flash of red rounding the rocks before she hit the trigger of her SMG in blind panic. She was surrounded, cornered... she was dead. She managed to take out the only one of the three legionaries armed with a rifle, by sheer luck and naught more. A bullet had grazed her temple and the blood running down her face together with the pain in her head almost blinded her. 

Before she could aim on one of the other two, a spear skewered her left leg right through the thigh, and with a scream of agony Layla dropped to the ground and lost her gun. The legionary in turn lifted his second spear to finish her off, and even as Layla braced herself for the end his head exploded in a ghastly shower of blood, bone fragments, and brain tissue. The second legionary jumped and ducked, but he shared his companion’s fate within seconds, landing flat on Layla’s legs as he collapsed, breaking off the spear sticking out of her leg. The agony of it almost knocked her out, but as she tried to drag herself out from under him neither her arms nor her legs did obey her.

With a strange clarity she suddenly registered, when looking down her legs, that the spear had severed the large artery in her thigh and that she was going to bleed to death if no one came and either saved her, or put her out of her misery. She let herself fall back and ignored the stinging pain in her head as she hit the dirt.

The ground swayed under her. Her vision swam, greyed out along the edges and became fuzzy. She heard steps. 

Another scream. 

“MEDIC!”

Someone dropped a weapon and knelt beside her. “Shit.”

She blinked and tried to focus on the face hovering above her. It was Boone.

“Craig.” Her voice was only a hoarse whisper. 

“Shit.” He pushed the dead man off her body and gathered her up in her arms. “Layla, hold on.”

Layla couldn’t focus, his face faded in and out and swayed back and forth, too. “Did we win?”

“We did.” He brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek that were plastered there with blood. “We’ve won. The dam is ours, the legate is dead.”

She tried to nod, but gave it up as a bad idea when not only her vision but also the whole world around her swayed. She was sinking, drowning in cold water. 

“Craig... I’m so cold…”

“Hold on”, he said again, then looked at her for the first time. 

Swearing under his breath when he discovered her wound he cautiously laid her down, then pulled her belt out of her trousers and wound it tightly around her leg, pulling it as hard as he could. The pain made her gasp. 

“Sorry”, he muttered. “You’re bleeding to death.”

He gathered her up into his arms again and rested her head against his shoulder. It made breathing a lot easier for her. 

“It’s so cold”, Layla whispered again, her throat so dry that even whispering hurt. “Do you have water?”

“No.” His voice was cold, too. “There’s medics all over the place now, though. Hold on, Layla. Just hold on a little longer.”

The pain was gnawing at her bones. The thirst was driving her mad. And she was so cold. She couldn’t move any more, just managed to turn her head so she could bury her face into his shoulder. 

“Craig...”  
“What.” His hand was running through her hair. A strange gesture, he had never really touched her before, but it seemed strangely fitting and comforting to be touched like that.

“It hurts so much.” 

His voice was trembling as he answered. “It’ll be better soon.”  
“Am I dying?”

He took a deep breath, and when he answered, his voice was cracked and hoarse. “Yes.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“No one wants do die.” He pressed her head gently against his shoulder.

“I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be with you.”

Layla could feel her heartbeat weakening, and already it was faltering now and then, missing a beat here and there. It was hard to breathe, but the thirst and the cold was slowly becoming worse than the pain. A few random memories swam into her consciousness, and one of them stirred another feeling inside her: regret. 

“Craig?”

“What.”

“Remember that guy with the guitar we met on the road? The one who works in the Tops now?” She noticed her voice was slurring a little, talking was becoming increasingly difficult. “He promised me he’d teach me how to play.” The regret burned worse than the pain, and a tear fell free from the lashes of each of her eyes. “I’ll never learn it now.”

He held her a little tighter but failed to think of an answer, instead he just stared straight ahead to avoid having to look at her pale face and the ground under her that was soaked in her blood.

“Will you ask him to come and play a few songs at my grave?” Layla finally managed to turn her head and with her fading vision, searching his eyes. 

With a slow and laborious move he reached up and took his sunglasses off to be able to look into her eyes without anything between them. “I will.”

“And take please... take care of the little...” She coughed and the pain that caused made her wince. “...ED-E. I’m sure the... the Followers will take him if... if you can’t stomach... him anymore.”

He hesitatingly placed a calloused hand on her cheek “Promised.”

“Craig...” 

Trying to focus on his face she failed, her vision failed, the last thing she felt were his arms tightening around her before the cold inside her suddenly grew into heavy, comforting warmth. 

“Layla...”  
She wanted to reply, but couldn’t. The heavy darkness turned into a white, blinding light.

“No...”

* * *

Her head fell back and Boone pressed her against his body, trying not to scream. Rocking her back and forth he failed to notice the steps hurrying over.

“Jesus!”

He lifted his head. A pair of field medics was running towards them and one of them already dropped down beside her. 

“Shit. Move! Come on, get out of the way!”

Hesitatingly Boone let her go and stood up, watching with a strangely  
detached mind as the two medics unpacked instruments and stimpacks.

“Do you have the D-300?”

“I do, but it’s too late, man...”

“Fuck, we gotta try!”

“All right. Careful now. One, two...”

“No response.”

“Shit. This isn’t going to work anymore.”

He turned around and walked away, slowly and with heavy steps; rounded a corner, walked past a burning legion tent and headed for the gate. He had only one thought that kept him going, and that was finding the freak with the guitar so he could fulfil her last dying wish. ED-E, the blasted levitating bag of scrap, was dutifully puttering after him, following him as new master, and to hell if he would ever give him away. She had asked him to take care of him. 

He tried to suppress the bitter thought that his punishment wasn’t over, after all. Had never been. He wasn’t free, he never was, and he never would be. Boone made his way back to New Vegas, devoid of any feelings. His only goal was now to get that guy singing at her grave, then make his way into legion territory and take as many of the bastards down before he was overcome. Taking as many as he could before following her. Making them pay. Over and over again, before his fate would finally catch up with him.

When he returned to the camp a week later the graves were already covered and marked, a large field of white crosses for the NCR soldiers, and a long mound at the bottom of the rise marking the mass grave for the dead legionaries. With the musician in tow Boone made his way through the rows of crosses, looking for her name. 

He couldn’t find it. Overcome by a helpless, infuriating frustration he made his way back, and back again, wasting an hour and a half running back and forth through the rows of grave markers without finding her name. Fury began to win over frustration and he had to keep a very tight rein on himself when he finally found an officer in one of the tents.

“Where did you bury Layla?”

The Sergeant narrowed his eyes. “Layla?”

“The courier! I can’t find her grave marker!”

“Oh! Her! Well, there is no grave marker...” He broke off because Boone had grabbed his collar and half-dragged him off his chair and over the desk in his fury.

“Don’t you dare tell me you threw her into the same grave as the legionaries because she was a civilian!”

“Nothing of the sort!”, the Sergeant yelled. “And if you don’t let go of me this second I’ll have you arrested!”

With a grunt Boone let go of him and the Sergeant leaned back into his chair, straightened his uniform and glared at Boone out of narrowed eyes under his bushy eyebrows. 

“If you’d let me finish, Boone, I would have told you that there is no grave marker because there is no grave. You might go look for her in the lazaretto tents. Dismissed.”

Boone stared at him like a dumbstruck idiot and the Sergeant, who had heard the rumours of the medics having found him cradling her in his arms as she lay dying, felt it in his heart to pity him. 

“You heard me, Boone. She was as good as dead when they brought her in. As far as I know, it was a close shave. The docs put up quite a fight for the girl.”

Boone shook his head, then finally got his wits together and spun around. He was out of the tent in an instant and broke into a run.

“Hey! Wait for me!”, the Lonesome Drifter yelled and set off after him, but Boone was already out of sight between the lazaretto tents.

There were a dozen of them, and Boone ran back and forth, his heart hammering in his chest not only because he was running like all hell was opening up under him. In the sixth tent, he found her. She was sitting on a cot and a medic was examining her leg. 

She looked up and noticed him. “Boone! The fuck have you been all that time?” 

Then she noticed his facial expression and faltered, exchanging a look of insecurity mingled with worry with the medic who shook her head and left them. 

“Finding that musician to perform at your grave”, Boone replied with a slightly husky voice as he fought for his composure.

“You thought I was dead...” Her voice was hollow and it didn’t sound like a question.

They stared at each other for a very long while before Layla found her voice again. 

“I thought you were dead too when you didn’t show up here anymore, though I hoped you were just lying low somewhere. That you had run into stray remnants of the legion and died trying to avenge me.”

“That was my plan, yes.”

“To avenge me, or die trying?”

He swallowed heavily. “Both.”

She watched him with a guarded, wary expression in her eyes. “But I am still alive.”

Not trusting his voice any more he walked over to the cot, then slowly lowered himself down to his knees. The look in his eyes, try as he might to hide it, plugged her heartstrings and Layla extended a cautious hand to place it on his cheek. He in turn closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.

“And now?” Her voice was a husky, trembling whisper

As an answer he closed his arms around her and buried his face in the cloth of her shirt, holding on to her like a drowning man to a lifeline. Layla in turn closed her arms around him and lowered her head to rest her cheek on his head.


End file.
